There Are No Goodbyes
by SarahZahde
Summary: Spoilers for 5x13. I was wondering what was with the little scene of Percival tracking Morgana, and concluded that Percival found Merlin by the lake and helped him get back to Camelot. Oneshot. Kinda depressing.


**What started as a 'why did they have that tiny scene with Percival tracking Morgana' fic turned into something pretty depressing. Not hard to be depressing with that finale, though. Gosh. Not sure what else to say about this except I hope you all are more okay with the ending than I was. EVERYTHING HURTS.**

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Percival tracked Morgana until he found the horses. They were both snacking on trees, quite oblivious to the early hour of the morning or the knight's urgent errand. He knew these horses. They were from Camelot, and they didn't spook too badly at his touch-they recognized him, as well. Percival gripped their bridles, suddenly fearful. He HAD been following Morgana's tracks specifically, but it was obvious that a pair of horses had been just ahead of her. Merlin and Arthur. And if these horses were away from their masters, what had been the fate of the king and his friend?

Mounting one of the horses, Sir Percival gripped the other's bridle and trotted along, keeping a sharp eye for the path along which the horses had fled, undoubtedly from the witch. And, almost before he expected it, he found her. Dead. Blood stained the dead leaves beneath her black gown, and her face, already so pale in life, was now translucent and ghostlike. Like Gwaine's.

Percival slowly dismounted, Gwaine's screams still echoing in his head. It made him sick inside, to see his murderer sleeping so peacefully.

_I failed._

_I failed. _

But brave Sir Gwaine hadn't. Here she was, dead. Arthur had prevailed, and the witch could harm none of them now. Percival knelt, one hand gripping the horses' bridles. He touched the porcelain jawline, half expecting those eyes to fly open gold and throw him back through the air. But Morgana was still, only about an hour dead from the feel of her lukewarm skin. Arthur couldn't be too far ahead. Percival stood up and it was only then that he saw the lake of Avalon. No need for tracking, now. The knight re-mounted and started at as fast a pace as he could down the hill, praying that he would find neither man on the shore, but instead find that they had successfully crossed into Avalon.

But this prayer went unheeded by God, or perhaps it would have been too late, anyway. For there a small dark form sat, just at the edge of the water, staring at the tower on the isle. Percival dismounted and ran the last few yards to Merlin.

"Merlin!"

Merlin looked back at him with eyes rimmed with red, and cheeks wet with tears. "Percival," he said hoarsely. His pants and boots were completely soaked, and he gave a little shiver as he jerked his head back to stare at the distant shore.

"The king?" Percival said. He had to hear it, to be sure.

"Dead." The word came out shaky, but Merlin swallowed and continued, and now his voice was steady. "I sent him to Avalon to rest."

Percival stood next to his friend, watching mist drift across the lake's surface as if to hide the secrets of the distant tower. There was simple silence between them, until finally Percival said, "Come," and held out a large hand. "The time for tears has passed. The battle is won."

Merlin took his hand and let himself be helped to his feet. "Not for Arthur," he whispered.

Percival bowed his head. "Nor for Gwaine."

Besides a brief explanation of Gwaine's death, the two were silent as they rode back to Camelot. The brilliant blue sky above seemed to mock them and the burden of death that lay across their shoulders. To Merlin, it felt like it was raining, a never-ending mist that closed in around him and obscured the future. For what could the future hold for Merlin, when there was no Arthur to protect? Albion, though strong now, would one day fall as all great kingdoms must fall, and all they had worked for would come to naught.

"Merlin." It was Gaius' voice, and Merlin slowly looked up. He was almost astonished to see that he was now in the Camelot courtyard, still atop his horse. But there was no feeling left in his heart for astonishment. His whole being felt like a dead weight, still holding tightly onto a body wrapped in chain mail. He slowly dismounted, and the horse was led away. Gaius was saying something to him, but all Merlin could see was the Queen's face as Percival told her the news at the foot of the steps. Those steps held so many memories. Once, Morgana herself had rushed down those steps, screaming for Arthur not to go on a quest, she had seen a vision of his death. What quest had that been? And how many kings had ridden up while Arthur and the knights stood in a line halfway up the staircase to greet them? How many times had Merlin taken a final glance back at those steps as he followed Arthur out on some bullheaded adventure?

"… in shock," Gaius was saying. Merlin felt a pair of small hands on his arms, and he looked down into Guinevere's golden brown eyes.

"I failed," he managed to say. Failed to save Morgana. Failed to save Mordred. Failed to save Arthur. Had he been watching, he would have seen Percival's jaw clench at that phrase, that hopeless echo that had been another man's dying words only last night.

"No, Merlin," Gwen said. Her eyes were filled with tears, like waves upon the shore of a bottomless lake. "You were there for him. I know that there was no one better to have been with him in his final moments."

"Except you," Merlin said dully. He hid his face in his hands, fell to his knees. Gwen knelt and held him until she realized that he had passed out.

"Sir Percival," she said quietly, and the knight stepped forward to carry the unconscious sorcerer up to his room.

Many found themselves alone that day, and would find themselves so all too often in the future. Queen Guinevere, sitting next to an empty throne. Merlin, waking in the cheerless hours of the morning when the dew still freezes in the air and the birds have not yet begun their morning-song. Sir Percival, standing in front of a bonfire that consumed a pale, tortured, but still annoyingly handsome face, although surrounded by friends would still feel so utterly alone that he knew that a heartbreak such as this could never again be mended by words or swordplay or even the embrace of a woman. Perhaps only death, filled with the promise of seeing loved ones, could truly mend a broken heart.

But the time for death had not yet come, and for a certain immortal sorcerer, it would not come until the return of the Once and Future King, and Excalibur was once again raised to a lightning-filled sky.


End file.
